Rooted (Pagano Family #3)(2)
The doors opened, and the roar and squeal of Rosa’s party momentarily filled the lobby. Luca sighed. “I can’t believe you’re spending three months alone with that girl. How are you going to keep her entertained? And f*ck, it’s gotta cost some bank.”
Carmen’s graduation present for Rosa was the summer in Europe. They were leaving in less than a week, not due back until late August. Their siblings—and their father, for that matter—thought Carmen was nuts. But she thought it was a good idea. Rosa needed to get shaken out of her paradigm. Ivy league poli-sci degree or not, she was turning into not a great human being, the cliché of the Italian-American Princess. The kind of girl they made reality television shows about.
And no. No, no, no. No Pagano was going through life that way. She needed a new way to see the world. So Carmen had decided to show her some of the world.
To answer Luca’s concern now, Carmen shrugged. “She’s twenty-two. She doesn’t need a sitter, she needs a base. It’ll be fine. We’re staying at Izzie’s place in Paris while she’s in India for a year, and I can write the rest off—I’m touring some commercial flower growers and gardens, and getting some ideas, so I’ll be doing some work.”
She was a landscape designer. It had taken some doing to arrange her work so that she could take the entire summer—the peak season—off, but she had jobs going and people she trusted to supervise them, and she had a healthy cushion. Her tastes were not extravagant, and her work paid well; she’d always lived comfortably within her means.
Her friend Isabella had been living in Paris for more than ten years. They’d been roommates at Bryn Mawr and had had big plans about how they’d take on the world after graduation. Izzie had come much closer to reaching that goal. Carmen’s life had had something else, something smaller, in mind for her. Now Izzie and her husband were off to India on some humanitarian project for a year, and she’d offered Carmen dominion over their Paris apartment for as long as she wanted during that time.
The timing could not have been more perfect, just as Rosa was finishing college. And with the free accommodations and tax write-off, Carmen could afford this trip without pinching every penny.
She fussed with her skirt—she’d been doing that all day; she was not a woman who usually wore a skirt, and she’d spent the day constantly, uncomfortably aware of her clothes. Also, her feet were about to start a prison riot inside the toes of her stupid pumps. Huffing in frustration with her bindings, she continued her point to Luca. “She’s never been to Europe. You ever think about that? We used to go every year when Mom was alive. God, I got bored of Italy. And Rosa has never been. There’s something wrong with that.”
Their mother had been close with her Italian relatives, and they’d spent a few weeks every summer in Tuscany. None of the kids had managed to learn more than cursory Italian, because all of their relatives spoke English, but they had learned a lot about their history and family nonetheless. And summer in Tuscany was spectacular.
Every summer, for one week of that trip, the week their father joined them, they’d travel elsewhere in Europe. That had all stopped when Joey was about four, when their mother’s aunt died, and some kind of family shenanigans had happened in the old country.
Luca considered that, and then nodded. “Good point. But why not take her to Italy, then? Look up the cousins or something. Rosa should get some of that.”
“Rosa’s a Francophile. She knows the language. I took it, too, a long time ago. Maybe I still have some left. And like I said, I’ve got a free place in Paris and work I can do there. Plus, France is a decently central location. She wants to see the UK, too. And we’ll hit Italy for a week or so, at least.”
“Still say you’re in for a long f*cking summer catering to the princess.”
“There won’t be any catering, Luc. That’s the whole point. That girl needs a new attitude, and she’s never going to get it unless she gets out of Rhode Island for a while.”
Luca turned and stared at the closed door behind which was their youngest sibling’s gala event. “Yeah, I guess. Sabina says we spoil the shit out of her, and then talk about her behind her back.”
Carmen chuckled drily. “Like we’re doing right this second. Spoiling her in there”—she pointed toward the ballroom—“and bitching about her out here.”
Her brother’s head whipped around. “Shit. Shit.” He was quiet for a moment, staring at her. “Shit. You want me to throw in for this trip?”
“No, Luc,” she laughed. “I’m all set.”
1
Carmen cracked open the door to Rosa’s room and saw a lump in the bed, under the white cotton comforter. Long strands of sable and burgundy hair coiled from the top and spread over the crisp, white cases on the pillows.
With a roll of her eyes, she quietly closed the door and went into the kitchen. She wrote a quick note (Went out. Text if you need me. There’s food in the fridge. C—), tented the paper and left it sitting on the countertop. Then she did as advertised and went out, locking the heavy door behind her.
Izzie and Laurent’s apartment was located in the swanky seventh arrondissement of Paris—only a few blocks from the Eiffel Tower. The neighborhood boasted tree-lined streets and sidewalks bursting with cafés, patisseries, chocolatiers, flower shops, and chichi boutiques. The apartment buildings were grandly aged and perfectly Parisian, with red geraniums abloom on black iron balconies onto which opened multi-paned French doors.